


Ensnared

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angsty Schmoop, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Mild Blood Drinking, set vaguely post season 12 so beware of spoilers.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-30 08:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12650214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: Jack has taken off, their mom is still gone, and Dean is spinning out with inaction. Sam suggests a non-dangerous diversion to scavenge through the remains of the British Men of Letters’ trailer for equipment and information. Sam comes across the Brit’s recent research on vampires and Benny’s name pops up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Written for the 2017 [](https://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/profile)[spn_reversebang](https://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/) inspired by [](https://saintsammy.livejournal.com/profile)[saintsammy](https://saintsammy.livejournal.com/) s intriguing art and prompt. Thank you for the great beta work, [](https://jerzcaligrl.livejournal.com/profile)[jerzcaligrl](https://jerzcaligrl.livejournal.com/) it was really helpful.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

***

 

 

_“Your memory is a monster; you forget—it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you—and summons them to your recall with will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!”_

 

_―_ [ **_John Irving_ ** ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3075.John_Irving) _,_ [ **_A Prayer for Owen Meany_ ** ](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/1734019)

 

***

 

Sam had been quiet the whole drive back to the Bunker, nose buried in some files he’d brought back from their cleanup of what was left of the British Men of Letters’ operations base. He had been right about the whole thing not burning down to the ground and they’d nabbed a few boxes of files, some computer and random tactical equipment. The trunk was completely packed with their haul. In the silent car, Dean had time to reflect on how smart his brother was, what a leader he’d morphed into, however reluctantly.

 

He looked over at Sam, his back squashed up against the car door, the files balanced on his bent knees, hair covering most of his face. Dean laid a hand on Sam’s calf and squeezed.

 

“Almost home, Sammy.”

 

Sam looked up and his eyes blearily focused on Dean.

 

“Good,” he murmured, smiling a little and looking back down at the files.

 

The next morning, Dean got up earlier than Sam, so he had time to look over some of the papers they’d brought in from the car last night. As he read through them, he drank an entire pot of coffee, adrenaline spiking the more pages he got through.

 

Dean was shaken by how much the British Men of Letters had known about how he’d gotten Benny out of Purgatory. They had all the details of that creepy spell he’d used, there was even a write-up on the possible aftereffects that he might have (which no one had ever happened to mention at the time). Even worse were the dry, almost clinical musings about the exact nature of his relationship with the vampire.

 

Honestly, he was just about ready to burn the pages and try to forget about the whole shebang. Fuck those moralizing Brits after what they’d pulled with them, what they’d done to Sam, invading their home, getting between them and their mother. Then he realized that the papers with the Purgatory/Benny information had been set on Sam’s side of the table, they’d been in the stack next to his laptop bag. That meant these were likely the ones he’d been poring over in the car the whole way home.

 

That realization had him pouring himself some whisky in his empty coffee cup even though it was before seven in the morning. As he finished his drink he noticed the post-it notes stuck in a few places with his brother’s writing: _’4 D’_ and ‘ _Ask Dean about this’._ His initial grin at the cuteness of Sam’s little notes faded as he realized that Sam now knew a lot more than he had before. A whole heaping lot more than Dean had ever been brave enough to admit to.

 

They never really had talked about Benny after everything that had gone down. Sam had passed on Benny’s wish to stay in Purgatory, and they’d pretty much dropped the subject, just like they’d dropped the subject of Amelia. It had seemed like they both needed to concentrate on their conscious choice to stay together and get the job done. And then the Trials and everything that’d followed had screwed that up even more.

 

Sitting there, drinking his second glass of whisky, (hold the coffee please), Dean ran his fingers over Benny’s name printed in the pages of the Men of Letters’ report. He found himself surprised at how moved he was to see it written out in full: Benjamin Lafitte. He finally had to admit to himself that he still felt a connection to the vampire, and to Purgatory, even now. Even after the Mark of Cain, dying, becoming a demon, and almost being taken over by Amara. That connection with the vampire still remained deep in his veins. It felt like his body remembered that it had once held the entirety of Benny’s spirit, how his body had carried Benny’s essence through the portal, back to Dean’s world.

 

The more Dean thought about it, especially after he was almost done with a third glass of whisky, the more he had to admit that there was a trace of Benny still in him somewhere. He re-read the section about possible aftereffects from using that spell, but the Men of Letters seemed to be just kicking around theories, not putting down in stone what would be the result of giving a vampire a ride like he had done. The theories seemed to revolve around what made up a soul, down to the unseeable particles, and their behavior when subjected to various forms of magic. He wondered if it mattered that he and Sam were soulmates, at least the Brits hadn’t known about _that_ particular detail.

 

He grabbed his keys and jacket from his room and headed to the garage. Sam wouldn’t miss him while he got this shit sorted. The door to the Impala clicked shut and he clenched his hands on her wheel. He wished more than anything he had the guts to go back in and spill it all out, work through it with his brother. But he couldn’t talk to Sam about any of it, because he knew Sam would be intensely jealous of his connection with Benny all over again. Especially because he now knew the gory details Dean had never shared. The whole jealousy thing, which Dean understood much too well himself wasn’t something he was up for. He couldn’t even think of the woman Sam had loved and left for him back then without getting a cramp in his stomach.

 

Even now, all these years later, he still had to tell himself that they’d done the right thing, made the right choice to stay together. But he had always known deep down that Sam deserved that happy ending with Amelia. Sam was never going to get anything resembling a happy ending with him, it just didn’t seem to be in the cards, their lives didn’t seem to allow that kind of thing. So even though Sam was always bugging him to talk about this kind of relationship shit, he couldn’t bear to do it. It would just stir up the whole mess again, and as unresolved as it all felt, it seemed like the wrong time. Hell, honestly, he knew it would never feel like the right time.

 

Who else was there for him to confide in? He paged through his contacts in his phone list, the bright screen lighting up the dimness in the garage. Even if his mom was still here in their world, she would never understand, and he’d never even want to bring it up with her really. She had run away from them without even knowing about his past relationship with a vampire much less the one he had with his brother. Cas hadn’t ever been helpful with this kind of human thing, so there was no point in trying to talk to him. Jody was too busy with the girls, and he didn’t want to burden her with a bunch of oh-poor-me whiny bullshit.

 

He turned his phone off and started up his Baby, at least she understood him. A drive to sort out his thoughts, that would be a start. After a few hours on the road, Dean did what he had always done when he needed a sympathetic ear that wasn’t attached to Sam. He found himself a bar that had a bartender who was willing to listen as long as he kept throwing cash on the bar for more whisky.

 

At first he couched the conversation in romantic terms, so that he didn’t have to explain to Shirl the bartender about how it was an actual vampire they were talking about him missing. He stumbled over explaining that even though he was happier with Sam now than he could ever remember being, he still missed Benny sometimes. He was surprised to hear himself admit that he still woke up occasionally missing him, wanting him. But all that felt like he was cheating on Sam all over again, even if it was just in his mind and memories.

 

“Sam had a serious relationship with a woman during the time when we were separated. But we never discussed her much either,” Dean said.

 

“Dean, you ever consider that perhaps Sam has a similar thing going on?” Shirl asked, wiping the same spot on the counter between them, her bracelet softly jingling as she moved.

 

“How do you mean?” Dean asked, sipping at his whisky.

 

“Fond memories have a way of staying in one's subconscious, and there isn’t anything wrong with either of you having good memories. As long as it isn’t affecting what you have with Sam right now of course,” Shirl gently suggested.

 

“I have no idea how to even start to answer that,” Dean said.

 

“Not being able to answer something so simple might be the clue that’s the issue you really should work on first instead of all the other stuff,” Shirl said, still gentle, but with a hint of steel underneath. Like she had dealt with this kind of uncommunicative bastard herself.

 

“You talkin’ from experience?” Dean asked.

 

“Yeah, personal and recent, he wouldn’t talk, so we're no longer a we,” Shirl said, her dark eyes flashing with hurt and anger.

 

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, stomach contracting with dread as he considered the possibility of that same thing happening with Sam.

 

“Yeah, me too, but it wasn’t something I could make him do. And he didn’t have the balls to choose to do it himself. Some sort of macho bullshit, or I wasn’t worth the risk to his ego, hell if I know. Not my issue any more, thank god. So here’s your free advice, Dean—get your ass back home, and talk your Sam’s ear off. Don’t stop until he gets worried there’s something wrong with you. Seriously, you’ll be thanking me.”

 

“That mean you’re cuttin’ me off?” Dean asked.

 

“Yeah, and I’m about to take your car keys unless I see you walk a straight line out that door,” Shirl said, pointing at the exit, bracelet dangling and jingling on her wrist.

 

Dean laughed, shook her hand, and barely noticed the bracelet brushing his bare skin as he threw his last twenty on the bar. “Thanks for everything, darlin’.” He stood up a little unsteady at first, took a deep breath and then exaggeratedly walked, one foot in front of the other in a precise line out into the night.

 

On the way home, the whisky finally caught up with him, and he fell asleep at the wheel on the dark two-lane road. The Impala ran off into a ditch near the woods that were a mile or so away from the bunker. He struggled out of the car and landed in a pile of sticker vines, face up, eyes blinking at the brightness of the full moon. He thrashed through them and staggered out of the ditch, his arms and ankles and neck all scratched up. He had to pull the vines off of himself, and suck at the teeny sharp thorns left behind in his fingertips.

 

Dean walked the rest of the way home, lighting his way with his cellphone and got there quite a bit later than he’d planned. It was so late Sam had given up on him and gone to bed, in his own room. Sam’s door was shut all the way, there were no lights, and no sounds. Dean headed to his own room and was out cold before he even had a chance to get all the way undressed.

 

At first he knew it was all a dream, like you sometimes do in normal dreams. But after a while he started to worry, it all seemed too real to be just a run-of-the-mill dream. He was outside the bunker alone walking along the edge of the road looking for his car and there were too many vines, lots of them. Suddenly there were a lot more than too many vines, nearly everything seemed to be made out of them. They were all moving at once and he couldn’t quite make them out through the thickening darkness.

 

He could hear a continuous heavy rustling sound, the shifting the vines made, as they moved ceaselessly against one another. There was a sound of clicking when thorns met and caught hold, letting go with an ominous snick. The thorns had to be big and very hard to make that much noise. But maybe it sounded big because that was all there was.

 

_Just Dean and the vines._

 

But no, he heard him then, his old friend was calling him in a muffled voice, through a mouth full of something. He saw Benny’s face through the dimness, could just make out the piercing blue eyes, saw his lips moving but the vines tangled around and then—through him. The vines growing around his neck and out of his mouth and curling around and up, tightening in a pulsing squeeze. Benny’s eyes went panicked and huge, he grunted and moaned in pain, his body was unable to move, held tight by the vines.

 

Dean was at his side in a flash, pulling them off, struggling to untangle him, but it was pointless, they grew much faster than he could remove them. The thorns were pricking his fingers so much that his blood was making the vines slick and impossible to grasp.

 

At the scent of Dean’s blood, Benny’s eyes went hazy with blood lust even though he was on the edge of being choked to death. But he couldn’t die, he was already dead, he was a vampire. But here in this hellish dream, Benny was smelling blood which gave him extra power to escape the clutches of the vines. He ripped through them, quickly freeing himself and pushed Dean down to the ground, bending him backward, teeth finding the vein in his throat.

 

Dean felt the familiar puncture and then the mind-numbing ecstasy of being fed on. He had never gotten a chance to do that himself, although he came close the short time he was a vampire himself, and he was jealous, always jealous that Benny got this. Benny had offered many times to turn Dean, make him a vampire too so he could experience the rush of feeding, but Dean has always said no. He couldn’t do that to Sam.

 

It couldn’t possibly be worse, even if it was a dream, until it was worse. It hadn’t been just Benny caught up in the vines, Sam was stuck in there too. He wasn’t quite as wrapped up yet, his head was still sticking up out of the vines, untouched, they were just barely beginning to encircle his neck. Somehow there was enough light to see the blood trickling down the graceful arch of his brother’s neck. The blood was from a very visible bite—a vampire bite. His hands dropped the vines he was still pulling from Benny as he continued to feed from Dean’s neck. He pushed away from the vampire, screaming Sam’s name.

“Dean!”

 

He heard Sam’s voice coming from somewhere far away, but his mouth wasn’t moving, the vines were moving it for him, growing out and through his beautiful lips. The thorns drawing blood that dripped down his chin.

 

“You gotta wake up, c’mon, Dean,” Sam said, slapping his brother’s cheeks lightly.

 

He pushed his way through the tangle of vines towards Sam, bent down and kissed the blood off his lips. He licked the trickle of blood off Sam’s neck until his brother’s skin was clean, Benny’s bite still showing clearly. “Why’d you let him, Sammy?” Dean asked.

 

“Why did I let who—what?” Sam asked, shaking Dean’s shoulders. “Dean, wake up!”

 

The dream burst apart in a blast of rotting leaves and thorns, Dean blinked slowly against the light streaming in from the hallway. He could see the outline of Sam’s bedhead. “Sam?” He asked, mouth thick and coppery from the taste of Sam’s blood.

 

“You were screaming, Dean,” Sam said, sitting back on his heels, running his hands through his hair now that they weren’t on Dean’s shoulders.

 

“Sorry for waking you, princess,” Dean said, trying to keep the quaver out of his voice. He didn’t want to deal with this, not with Sam, not in the middle of the night. He rolled over, turning away from Sam and fell back into a dreamless sleep now that Sam was beside him.

 

***

 

“Dean, where’s the car?” Sam asked after Dean had woken up enough to actually accept the offered cup of coffee.

“What?” Dean asked in a mumble against his coffee cup.

 

“I got up early, couldn’t get back to sleep, and I was going out to get us some more eggs. But I couldn’t because the Impala’s gone.”

 

Dean clunked the coffee cup down on his bedside table, his stomach sinking at the thought of Baby missing. “Gone?”

 

“Yeah, as in not in the garage, and not out front. Did you get a ride back from the bar?”

 

“Naw, got an Uber,” Dean joked, turning over, so his head was out of Sam’s view. He grimaced into his pillow as all the whisky from last night caught up to him in a rush.

 

“Seriously, dude, it’s pretty strange you’re not hollering and running around screaming about someone stealing your baby,” Sam said.

 

Dean didn’t respond, and Sam didn’t push it, thankfully leaving the room.

 

Dean tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t get past the smell of rotting leaves, it reminded him of that horrible dream. Then he realized his jacket was covered in them, clumps of rotting leaves were all over the jacket he still wore in his bed and there were tons of small thorns stuck in the sleeves. He stumbled to the small sink and splashed some water on his face, and almost screamed from the pain. There were so damn many thorns in his palms, he couldn’t even begin to count them.  How was he going to get all of them out before Sam saw them? He ignored the small cut on his wrist in the midst of all the tweezing he had to do.

 

***


	3. Chapter 2 of 4

 

It was a long walk back to his car, every step he took seemed to drive the spikes a bit deeper into his skull where they could rattle together. This hangover or whatever it was seemed to be getting worse.  That meant it took Dean a lot longer than he’d planned to get the car out of the ditch.

As in—it overlapped with Sam’s afternoon run.

He paused when Sam’s shadow darkened the sky behind him. He looked up at his brother who was outlined with pulsating sun rays. It was too much to take in along with the hangover.

“Need some help?” Sam asked, stepping down into the ditch behind the car.

“Yeah, stay there and push,” Dean said, climbing into the driver’s seat. He started up the engine and gunned it carefully up and out of the ditch. Sam only got partially slimed by the mud kicked up by the tires. Instead of laughing, Dean dug up a mostly clean towel and handed it to Sam.

“I know I’ve asked you this before, but you’ve got to promise me you won’t drive drunk again,” Sam said. “If you got killed doing that, I’d never forgive you. And if you hurt anyone, you’d never forgive yourself. Promise me, Dean,” Sam said in his best demanding little brother voice.

It felt like he’d had to endure Sam’s lecture for the millionth time over the years and maybe that was enough. It would be a pretty stupid way to go out, and Sam was right about the ‘not forgiving himself if he hurt someone part’. It wasn’t worth it anymore to pretend to be heedless and carefree. “Yeah, okay, I promise.”

Sam gave him a look that managed to be both relieved and skeptical in equal measures and then almost toppled over into the ditch. Dean caught his arm up just in time but then nearly pitched over himself. Their feet were ensnared by vines at the edge of the ditch. As he kicked them off, he thought about that horrible dream and the thorny vines. And all those thorns he’d picked out of his palms that morning. But these vines, they were completely thornless. Just smooth stems, wrapping around their ankles.

That night he had the same intense dream again, but this time Sam was the only one being choked by the vines, while Benny fed from him, not letting him up to go save Sam. In the dream his main frustration was that he couldn’t taste Sam’s blood again. Benny wouldn’t let him. That he wasn’t saving Sam from the vines didn’t really matter.

The next morning, after picking still more new thorns out of his palms he began researching. Late into the afternoon, he researched dream meanings and symbolism, looking up vines and thorns and vampire bites and desire for blood but he couldn’t put anything useful together. He could tell Sam was about to start noticing all his researching and so he knew he had to call it quits for the day.

“I’m going to the store and get us something good to make for dinner,” Dean said, standing in Sam’s doorway.

“Want some company?” Sam asked, looking up from the middle of the enormous novel it seemed like he’d been reading for days.

“Nah, I’ve got it, you keep reading, Poindexter.”

Once he got the shopping done, he stopped in at the bar again to see if the same bartender was there.

“I’ll take a whisky, single neat,” Dean said, settling down on the same barstool as last time.

“Hey, Dean, how did it go? You start talking yet or did he already kick your ass out?” Shirl asked sliding the glass over after she’d poured.

“I wanted to take your advice, Shirl, I really did. But I keep having this bad dream and I think it’s telling me not to do it. I don’t know, I’ve gone so long without telling him everything, isn’t it too late by now to come clean? I just wanted to make him a nice dinner tonight.”

Shirl sighed and came around the bar, sitting on the stool next to Dean since there were no other customers at the moment. She poured him another measure of whisky. “Listen, how long have you two been together?”

“Seems like our whole lives practically, but about twelve years give or take a millennia,” Dean said, which was pretty damn truthful even though Shirl probably thought he was just waxing poetic.

“A millennia, huh? Well, if he’s been worth sticking around for that long, I’m pretty sure he’s worth having a hard conversation with once in a while, right?”

Dean sighed, knowing how right she was. “How far back do I need to go?”

“When you think of the worst thing he doesn’t know, how far back is it?” Shirl asked.

“About twelve years,” Dean said, pit forming in his stomach.

“Start there and see how it goes. If you were him, would you want to know? If you’ve based the whole thing on a lie, does it all really matter to you or not?”

“That’s kinda harsh,” Dean said, finishing off his whisky.

“Well, that’s what they pay me the big bucks for. I’m cuttin’ you off at two for tonight. Go home and cook your man his dinner, and then hit him with the good talky stuff for dessert. I don’t want to see your face back in here until you’ve done it.”

Dean stood up and mock-saluted, tossed a twenty on the bar and smiled. “Thanks, Shirl, see you maybe never.”

***

That night, after his home-made lasagna was done and dusted, he sat Sam down with a glass of whisky in their pair of comfy library chairs. Sam looked at him with that worried/curious almost-frown that hadn’t changed from childhood.

“What’s up?” Sam asked. “You’ve been acting weird all night.”

“I’ve got to tell you something, Sammy. And I’m pretty sure you won’t like it. I should have told you all the way back when it happened, and I’m sorry it took me this long. I had my reasons, which you probably won’t agree with.”

"Dean, just say it,” Sam said, turning to him with that open, earnest face he used during victim interviews. He could see Sam struggling to keep all the worry turned down.

Dean downed the rest of his whisky and poured himself a refill. He settled back into the chair and took a deep breath. “When I came and got you at Stanford, it wasn’t just because I couldn’t find Dad. It was more…uh, about you, I guess. I had a bad feeling that something was going to happen to you that weekend.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a few extra long moments. “You mean you had a premonition?”

“I guess so, yeah. I saw you dying in a fire, trapped and yelling out for me. And if I’d told you back then, maybe we could have done something differently, so Jess would still be alive. I had another one that night, that told me you were in trouble, it’s why I showed up and pulled you out of the fire.”

Sam visibly winced when he said Jess’ name. “I had never asked you why you were there in our apartment after you’d dropped me off. Never really had thought about it. Have you ever had other premonitions since then?”

“None that stand out like those two. I mostly just chalk it up to lucky guesses or trusting my gut because of my vast experience.”

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean’s boasting. “I can see why you didn't tell me back then. But why didn’t you bring it up when I started getting the death visions?”

“I was still too guilty about not saying anything about it when it would have helped. But it was mostly because I didn’t want you to leave me. We’d just…you know, gotten together. Plus to me, they seemed like two different things.”

“Probably were, but it would have been helpful to know I wasn’t such a freak back then,” Sam said with a sigh.

“You’ve always been a freak, Sammy, pretty sure I told you that,” Dean said, grinning.

Sam punched at his arm and eventually smiled back. "Was that all you wanted to tell me?”

“Is that all? Sam, the whole thing between us is based on something I lied to you about, doesn’t that bother you?”

“No, no it doesn’t. Because that’s not what we’re based on, Dean. No way,” Sam said shaking his head.

“Well then, what the hell are we based on? Doesn’t it bug you that I lied to you about something so important from the very beginning?”

“Yeah, of course it bugs me, but don’t tell me that’s all there is, because I won’t believe you, because you’d be fucking wrong,” Sam said.

“There’s more that you don’t know…that I haven’t told you. Not a huge surprise I’m sure,” Dean said, refilling his glass and drinking half of it down. “I mean, I’ve got a list of stuff I should tell you that I haven’t. But I can’t do it all at once, and you probably wouldn’t want to hear half of it anyway,”

Sam said nothing, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest with his patented I’m-prepared-to-be-underwhelmed face.

Dean thought about Shirl’s advice and warnings and decided to surprise his brother this time. _Because why the hell not? Got to keep him on his toes and all right?_

“I’m going to start with telling you what happened with Baby just the other night. It started when I realized what you’d been reading on the way home from the Brit’s trailer the other day. All the detailed stuff about Benny and…uh how we got outta Purgatory. Knowing that you knew all of it—I got kind of messed up relieving it all, it brought up some stuff I haven’t dealt with yet.”

“What kind of stuff?” Sam asked, uncrossing his arms and switching over to the empathetic listening face that he only ever used on Dean when he knew it was something big.

“The way things were between me and Benny, while we were there, I never told you about—“ Dean said, frowning when Sam interrupted him.

“I figured you had some kind of relationship with him Dean, I don’t need the details. It was a whole year, I’m not that naive,” Sam said.

“I know you’re not, Sammy, believe me I know. But you don’t know that I still dream about him—about being with him.”

Sam didn’t speak for a long moment, his eyes got a faraway look and he smiled a little crookedly. “I still dream about Amelia like that sometimes, but it’s always random subconscious kind of stuff. It sure as shit doesn’t mean I want to go back to her or leave you or anything crazy like that.”

“Oh—good, I guess, that we both do that,” Dean said stumbling over his words, as the horrible confirmation that he was right about Sam making the wrong choice to leave Amelia hit him hard.

“What do you think it means that you dream about him?” Sam asked, interrupting Dean’s spiral into unhelpful conclusions.

“Well, until the other night, I’d have said the same thing as you just did, I think. They were a part of our lives, for a year, like you said, right? That’s a lot of time in the scheme of things. But after the thing with Baby the other night, the dreams I’m having aren’t normal.”

“Not normal how? Like a premonition again?” Sam asked.

“No, not like that, but they’re not regular dreams where random shit happens and you wake up and say to yourself: ‘wow that was a weird-ass dream’. It feels like it’s being directed from somewhere or something.”

“So what was it that happened with Baby?” Sam asked.

“I drove back from the bar, guess I had one too many glasses of whisky,” Dean said holding up a hand in the stop signal, “which I already promised you never to do again.”

“Thank you,” Sam said with a nod.

“I guess I fell asleep at the wheel or something, about a mile down the road from home. Ended up out of the car in the ditch where you found me trying to get her out. That night though, when I woke up down in that ditch, I was tangled up in all those vines, remember the ones that wrapped around our ankles when you were helping me? I got them off eventually and walked home. And ever since then I’ve been dreaming about vines and thorns and Benny and you and me.”

Sam put on his working-it-all-out-face and leaned forward. “Describe the dreams as best as you can. Like it’s for a case or something, okay?”

“You already know what this is, don’t you?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at Sam for making him go through the motions of a case instead of just spitting it out.

“I have a couple of hypotheses, yes, just like you probably do. But I need the details of the dreams to narrow it down.”

“Okay, fine, there are vines like I said, and they’re sentient and in constant motion. They’re all I can hear and everything I can sense is made up of them and the noises they make, their foul rotting smell,” Dean shuddered. “It’s creepy, and they’re growing around Benny and then you, you guys are trying to talk to me and then they grow out of your mouths and start choking you. I pull them off Benny, and then he…uh, he feeds off of me.”

“You mean he’s drinking your blood?” Sam asked, but not asking whether this was a thing that happened in Purgatory or afterwards.

“Yeah, then I hear you, and push him off, and you already have his bite mark on your neck. I lick up the blood from your neck, not like I’m a vamp myself, but just because I want it, I need to have it, to taste it. I ask you ‘why’d you let him, Sammy.’ That’s when you woke me up.”

“Anything else?” Sam asked.

“The next night it was almost the same, but this time you were the only one getting choked, and Benny wouldn’t let me up while he was feeding on me. He wouldn’t let me taste you no matter how much I begged. The vines seemed happy or something.”

“That’s pretty messed up,” Sam said.

“Shirl said it was just my subconscious working my guilt out about still dreaming about Benny. And at first I believed her, but then there were the thorns. When I woke up in my bed after the first dream, my hands were covered in thorns. I thought it was from where I’d left the Impala, but when I went back to get her, there were lots of vines but they didn’t have any thorns, none at all. And there were no vines with thorns in any of the ditches between that spot and home.”

“Shirl?” Sam asked, sitting up a little straighter in his chair.

“Oh—she’s the bartender, at Larry’s down on the main street, just past the grocery,” Dean answered, suddenly feeling strange about knowing the bartender well enough to know her name.

"Were the thorns in your palms when you woke up the same ones from the vines in your dream?”

“Not really, they were much smaller, when I was pulling the vines off of you and Benny in the dream, the thorns were enormous, they were cutting me up and were slippery with my blood. That was the only place in the dream that they cut me, but they didn’t stick in my palms like the ones that were there when I woke up.”

“But you didn’t have blood on your hands when you woke up, just small thorns?” Sam asked, leaning forward to peer at Dean’s hands.

Dean spread his hands out palms up to show his brother. “Uh huh, no blood at all, and there were leaves and stuff from the ground on my jacket. So I was definitely on the ground at some point that night, I didn’t dream that part.”

“I’m going to have to check this out, but I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of dream-demon or spirit. We’ll get it handled, don’t worry,” Sam said.

“I already did some research on vines and vamps and blood drinking and dreams. Nothing really came together for me though.”

“Show me?” Sam asked, standing up and holding a hand out to Dean.

Dean took his hand and stood up into Sam’s arms, who instantly wrapped him up in an unescapable hug. For once he didn’t want to escape, he buried his face in Sam’s shirt, soaking up the forgiveness even though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

“Thanks for telling me, Dean. I knew something was wrong, and that it was probably about the Benny stuff, but I was trying to give you space.”

“I’m sorry, for still dreaming about him sometimes,” Dean mumbled into Sam’s chest.

“It’s not something you need to apologize for, Dean, really,” Sam said into his hair.

Dean felt everything well up inside of him, all of the things he’d been hiding were piled up so high. “It feels like cheating, which makes it even worse that you’re not living a happy ending kind of life with her like you should be.”

“Dean, that’s not—how can you even think that? After all these years, how can you still not get it?” Sam asked, holding Dean even tighter like he knew Dean would want to run.

Dean sagged against Sam, dreading what would come next, letting Sam hold him up before he destroyed him.

Sam pulled them apart a little and put one of his giant hands under Dean’s chin until he looked up. “I chose you, and I will always choose you. As far as I’m concerned this, right here, right now, is the happy ending we’re making for ourselves,” Sam said, the earnestness in his expression and voice, the love and forgiveness in his eyes made Dean’s heart soar with surprised joy.

Dean kissed Sam then, hoping the thankfulness he felt would be communicated. Judging by the passion of Sam’s returned kiss, the message had gotten through just fine. This man, that he held in his arms, who held him so tightly, Sam had chosen him. And even better, he was happy, Sam had just said this was their happy ending. Dean felt himself fall apart, shaking with relief as his brother held him up through it.

Before he realized what was happening, Sam had hoisted him up onto one of the library tables and was undoing his jeans while pushing his shirt out of the way. Sam’s hair tickled at his bare belly as Dean felt himself harden completely. The feeling of Sam’s rough cheek sliding against him made him moan. Sam took him into his mouth and then down his throat, lips moving around him with words that Dean couldn’t quite hear but somehow knew. The vibration from Sam’s speaking the thankful prayers they still couldn’t say to each other was enough to tip Dean over the edge. He clenched his hands in Sam’s hair, pulling and tugging as he came hard and sudden.

****

  



	4. Chapter 3 of 4

The next thing he knew Sam was licking him clean and then putting him to bed. He drifted off to sleep quickly, feeling safe and untroubled, not worrying about Benny or telling Sam the truth he needed to know.

But still the vines came, but this time they came for him. The dream was darker, yet even more vivid, and he felt he was losing more of his own blood. The vines were slick with it, and still they moved, clicking their thorns eagerly as he watched Benny feed on Sam, unable to move or speak because he was held down, trapped by the vines. The world started going grey around the edges as the last of his blood drained out, he knew he was dying, and Sam was right there, writhing in ecstasy under Benny.

His last vision was of the vines wrapping them both up until neither of their faces showed, all he could see was the blood, soaking the vines until even the thorns weren’t visible.

He sat up in bed, heart pounding with fear, a scream on his lips and more thorns in his palms. Dean splashed a little water on his face and plucked the thorns out. He checked his watch and saw he’d only been asleep for a couple of hours.

“Have you figured this out yet or what?” Dean asked from the doorway of the library.

Sam looked up from the table where he had been thoroughly buried in research. At first, the only answer he gave was a sly smile. “Let’s go get a drink, and I’ll tell you,” Sam said. “I just need to grab something, meet you in the car.”

“Why don’t we just have something here, it’s kind of late to go out now,” Dean suggested.

“That bar you went to the other night, it’ll still be open, right? I just feel like hearing the jukebox or whatever,” Sam said, still smiling that sly almost smirk.

Dean grabbed his keys and waited in the Impala, wondering what was taking so long. Finally, Sam jumped in, wearing his new leather jacket, his hair nicely styled. God, he smelled good. Dean leaned into his space and nuzzled at Sam’s neck.

“You smell so good, Sammy,” Dean said, his head spinning with the scent which brought him back a couple hours to Sam’s head bent over his lap, blowing him so good he’d practically passed out. “And I owe you for earlier.”

Sam pushed him away a little roughly. “C’mon, the sooner we leave, the faster we get back.”

****

“Hey Shirl! Two of your best on-tap,” Dean said as they sat at the end of the bar.

Shirl smiled and pulled the two beers for them from the tap, setting them in front of Sam and then Dean. She paused and looked at Dean expectantly.

“Yeah, that’s him, this is Sam,” Dean said, pointing a thumb at Sam.

“Nice to meet you finally, Sam, after hearing all about you from this guy,” Shirl said, shaking Sam’s hand with a clink of her large bracelet.

“That’s quite a bracelet, Shirl, where’d you find something so cool in a middle of nowhere place like this?” Sam asked, tipping his glass towards Shirl’s wrist that was almost bumping into the back of Dean’s hand. The sharp golden spines of the bracelet looked like thorns for a moment.

Shirl’s open smile disappeared so abruptly it looked like a switch had been flipped off. Sam felt Dean go into protective mode beside him, his brother was ready for a fight which it might come to depending on what Shirl did next.

“Take whatever you did to him, off—now,” Sam said, pinning Shirl’s non-braceleted wrist to the surface of the bar.

“I did it for Benjamin, my kin deserved better. Something besides a lover who deserted him and then murdered him,” Shirl muttered, eyes gone dark with anger.

“Listen, lady, I’m sorry for what I had to…to do to Benny, I really am. But if you did something to me, you gotta undo it, whatever it is,” Dean said.

“You sliced his head off and buried him, all for what?” Shirl hissed.

Dean looked as guilty as if he’d crashed Baby on purpose.

“We were trying to close the Gates of Hell, and Benny told me he was happier in Purgatory, he was happy to help, and he wanted to stay there,” Sam said when Dean didn’t speak up. He still held Shirl’s wrist pinned to the bar.

“He did?” Both Shirl and Dean asked.

“Yeah, he did, and I’m pretty damn sure he was telling me the truth. Listen, Shirl, I get it, wanting vengeance for something happening to your kin. I’ve done horrible things myself when Dean was…” Sam said, looking down, unable to finish because that horrible list was always so close to the surface.

“What we’re trying to say here, is that there was a good reason for what happened, and that we’re sorry. What else do you want?” Dean asked.

“I want my kin, back here alive, where he belongs,” Shirl hissed, eyes darkening again.

“He wasn’t really alive, and he didn’t belong here. Even _he_ knew he was a man out of time, bringing him back wouldn’t help him, or you,” Sam said, hoping that she’d believe him.

“Uta brought you the dream sickness, and she will take your life’s blood drop by drop, every night that you dream,” Shirl said to Dean with a smirk. “And then your lover will be left alone to mourn you.” She looked at Sam with anger flashing in her eyes.

The sudden burst of anger that Sam felt at hearing Shirl’s words surprised him. He was barely able to keep himself from launching over the bar to strangle her. “You tell this Uta to take away the dream sickness and stay away from Dean—now,” Sam said with a low growl, squeezing her wrist even tighter until her fingers started going red.

“What if I don’t?” Shirl asked with her own growl at the end of her words.

“I’ll sic her right back onto you,” Sam said with the supreme confidence that came from being prepared.

Shirl’s eyes widened in surprise and she gargled out a laugh as she coughed. “Like you’d even know how…”

“Try me,” Sam said, pulling an amulet out of his jacket pocket that matched her bracelet’s pointy thorns. He swung it in front of her face until she seemed to sag in resignation.

“You wouldn’t have the balls to give what it asks of you,” Shirl said with a last blast of bravado.

“Try me,” Sam repeated, tightening his hand on her wrist.

Shirl seemed to take a long time to assess if Sam really meant what he was saying, examining his face closely. “Fine, let go of me so I can do it,” Shirl said.

Sam let go of her wrist but kept his hand nearby just in case she tried to run. He could feel Dean was still in ready-to-fight mode beside him.

Shirl bent over both the bracelet and the bar, her dark hair falling over her face. They could hear some mumbled words, a prayer or incantation maybe, and the name Uta several times. Finally she looked up and smirked at Sam. “It is done.”

“Give me the bracelet,” Dean said.

“No, it was my great-grandmother’s, I can’t,” Shirl said, holding her arm away from them behind her back.

Dean slid a hand into his pocket and pulled out his gun, pointing it at her heart. “Shirl, you know we can’t let you keep it. We’ve got to make sure no one else can get hurt with it.”

“And here I thought you didn’t care who you hurt,” Shirl said, practically spitting with sarcasm.

“We have a way to keep stuff like this from harming other people, and I know you don’t want to keep doing the sacrifices to use that thing,” Sam said.

“How do you know what I want? You don’t know a damn thing about me,” Shirl hissed.

“I know you’re the younger sister of Benny’s granddaughter, and your great-grandmother on your mother’s side was a powerful Zoroastrian priestess. You got sucked into this revenge thing somehow, Shirl. You need to let it go, don’t let it wreck your life,” Sam said.

Shirl folded a little in on herself. “I don’t have anything else.” She undid the clasp on the bracelet and pushed it over towards Sam on the bar.

Sam took out a kerchief and carefully wrapped it up with the matching necklace making sure not to let the sharp tips of the spines touch his skin. “You made the right choice, now hopefully there’ll be room for something good.”

“You know, for what it’s worth, I think you’d make a good relationship counselor, what you said to me actually helped us a lot,” Dean said, thumbing the safety and stowing his gun away.

“I actually do have most of a degree in psychology,” Shirl said, her face brightening a shade with Dean’s praise. “I dropped out when I inherited the bracelet.”

“See, there ya go, go finish it up, and open a practice, or even your own bar. You’ll be golden,” Dean said.

“But no more messing with daevas, you got it?” Sam asked with a stern yet still friendly smile.

“I won’t, it made me feel…dark inside. You were right about that, I didn’t like it,” Shirl said.

Sam stood up and waited for Dean to join him at the front door.

“I meant what I said about your good advice, it…uh, it really helped us. That’s probably the only reason you’re still breathing, you got it?” Dean said, hoping he was quiet enough that Sam wouldn’t hear either his confession or his threat.

“Did you love him?” Shirl asked.

“No, it wasn’t love, but he was what I needed at the time and I think I was that for him too,” Dean admitted.

“You’ve only ever loved Sam, right?” Shirl asked.

“Is it that obvious?” Dean asked with a smirk thrown Sam’s way. “Bye, Shirl.” He waved to her and joined Sam at the door, tucked his hand into Sam’s back pocket and steered them out into the parking lot.

***

 


	5. Chapter 4 of 4

 

“So was all that about Shirl’s background in the Men of Letters’ files?” Dean asked as they pulled out of the bar’s parking lot in a spray of gravel.

“Yeah, there was a family tree thing about Benny, mixed in with some of the alpha vamp stuff. I think they were researching to see if vamps usually turned their families or not.”

“Not Benny,” Dean said.

“Nope, that wasn’t his thing,” Sam said.

“So it was that ugly bracelet, huh? I guess it must have scraped me the first night I met her. Didn’t notice with all the thorns,” Dean said.

“Yeah, she was controlling a kind of Zoroastrian daeva with it. You have to perform ritual animal sacrifices to get it under your control and then to keep it happy usually human sacrifices are required. Luckily we stopped her before she got to that point.”

“Lucky isn’t what I’d call it, especially for the poor rabbits. You know it’s always rabbits they use. Where’d you find that necklace?” Dean asked, turning to see if Sam had that adorable satisfied look he got after he’d solved a case.

“Store-room number three, shelf eighteen,” Sam answered, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.

“Never thought I’d say anything good about the Men of Letters again, but their filing system was awesome, huh?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, it really was an advantage for this case. So tonight, how about no more thorns or bad dreams,” Sam said. “Can you pull over up here by the pond.”

Dean wondered why Sam wanted to stop at this hour, but he steered them into the unpaved parking lot on the edge of Sam’s favorite pond near home. It had a ring of willow trees around half the shore.

Sam got out and grabbed a blanket from the back seat. “C’mon,” he said, tapping on Dean’s window.

Sam took Dean’s hand and led him towards the nearest willow tree. As he held his brother’s hand while they walked in silence, Dean wondered why they didn’t do it more often, it felt—really nice, just right.

There was a soft patch of grass underneath the willow, it felt very private and enclosed under the curving branches. There was a lovely sigh as the wind blew through stirring the green walls. The moon had risen and its reflection was shining brightly on the pond’s surface. Sam spread the blanket out and laid down, tugging at Dean to join him, pushing and pulling Dean like a blanket to cover him as completely as possible.

“All we need is some wine and candles, Sammy. You sure know how to woo a guy,” Dean snarked, enjoying the small gasps and moans he was already getting from his brother as he ground down onto him where they were both hard and ready.

“Shut up and do me already,” Sam said, pulling his jeans off along with his boxers. He pushed Dean off so he could turn over onto all fours.

Dean ran his hands all over Sam’s flanks, marveling at how beautifully shaped Sam was, his hands wandered into his center. Pressing one finger inside he was surprised to feel moisture, Sam had gotten himself ready ahead of time for this.

“So you were that confident about how things would turn out, huh?” He slapped Sam’s ass hard just because he could.

Sam flinched at the hard slap and practically giggled. “I repeat, shut up and just do me already.”

“Oh, so all the pretty words have been said before, I get it,” Dean said, going up on his knees between Sam’s spread calves. He kneaded at the gloriously bared soft skin, and undid his jeans. Dean pulled himself out and spat on his hand, he jacked himself a few times to slick up and pressed inside Sam fast and deep.

As Dean bottomed out inside of him, Sam made an incomprehensible cry, words strung together so fast all Dean could hear was Sam’s pain and pleasure. He rested there a moment, feeling Sam clench and pulse all around him, achingly hot and so ready, so needy. Sam pressed his hips back, spurring Dean to begin thrusting. His hands found their usual spots just above Sam’s waist, and he gripped so tightly Sam would end up with the marks he always loved.

“Marking you up, Sammy, inside and out, just like you want it,” Dean said, thrusting his hips even faster, Sam’s hips arched up higher at his words, opening himself up so Dean could get even deeper inside. He could feel it when he hit all the right places, how Sam would respond so beautifully, practically writhing in a deep ripple that came from the inside out.

The connection they had, it wound through everything they did, especially this. Every time they gave themselves over to each other, it bound them tighter than any vines ever could. He came without warning, surprising both of them. The curse had taken more out of him than he’d realized.

He curved over Sam’s back and whispered in his ear, licking and biting around the delicate shell. “Come for me, Sammy.” His hand joined Sam’s in a fast pump, they moved as one until Sam came so hard he collapsed onto the blanket.

Dean lay on top of Sam for a long few moments, both of them breathing hard together. Finally he pulled out and rolled off with a satisfied groan. Sam propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at Dean, eyes twinkling in the reflected moonlight off the pond.

“Do me already, _really_?” Dean asked.

“Well, like you mentioned, all the pretty words had already been said.” Dean could see Sam trying not to laugh at his reaction. “Figured I was on thin ice there.”

“Never, not with me,” Dean said, snuggling into the arms Sam had wrapped around him.

Sam’s regular breathing stopped so Dean raised his head up to look at him. His brother’s face was radiant, eyes twinkling with the moonlight, good god he was so damn beautiful. Had he ever said that out loud before? He reached up to touch Sam’s sharp cheekbone, trailing one finger along it to his lips. “Sammy, you are so goddamn beautiful.”

He’d thought his brother’s face was radiant before, but now it transformed into something otherworldly. The look in Sam’s eyes was one he hadn’t seen before and he had a moment to wonder if he’d gone too far in saying that to him.

“I was just going to say the same thing about you, Dean,” Sam finally said, smiling that smile that went all the way into dimple overload. “But I was stopping myself, like I always do.”

“Well, you don’t have to. Not anymore,” Dean said, feeling like everything had changed.

“The chick-flick moratorium is lifted?” Sam asked, arching one perfect eyebrow with practiced skepticism.

“Not exactly, but if it’s going to do this,” Dean gestured all around them, meaning the perfect romantic setting, themselves tangled together sated and happy. “Then I say, awesome, go for it.”

Sam leaned down and kissed him deeply, thanking him with lips and teeth and tongue. He pulled back slightly and whispered against Dean’s mouth, “This…this right here and now, is what I meant about the happy ending we’re making for ourselves.”

Dean couldn’t speak for a long moment, the realization that he’d been struggling against for years finally landed in his mind from where it had always been in his hopeful heart. Sam was telling the truth here, he didn’t regret them being together or wish for something else. He really was choosing them over anything else. “Damn right it is.”

Sam laughed into his mouth and kissed Dean again, rolling them both over so he could press Dean down into the blanket and grass, anchor him to the ground with the glorious weight of his body. “Glad you’re finally on board with it.”

“Me too,” Dean said in a murmur against Sam’s ear.

They fell into a light doze together, there in the warm night under the tree. There weren’t any vines this time in Dean’s dream, no pricking thorns or blood, but there was Benny. His blue eyes twinkled and he tipped his cap to Dean before turning and walking away.

_~The End~_

  



End file.
